Unbelievable Circumstances
by Passing-Glance
Summary: In all her life, Hermione never hated or dreaded a class. But whoever decided to put her through hell alongside a young Dark Lord, was sincerely pushing it. She couldn't believe she had to take Sex Ed with Tom Bloody Riddle!
1. Prologue

**Title:** Unbelievable Circumstances

**Word Count:** 480

**Chapter:** Prologue

* * *

Whatever deity decided Hermione's life wasn't hellish enough was sorely mistaken. She didn't find it at all funny. She had been placed into a situation that was already hard enough as it was. But no, someone found adding extra baggage would be just hilarious.

She was not amused with whoever the asshole was.

She never did understand how she got herself into this situation in the first place. Mind, nothing had ever gone right for her, but this…this was just evil.

Sitting in the muggle studies class, just opposite of her most hated enemy; Hermione felt someone was messing with her—for the fun of it. She didn't mind that she had been thrown back into the past.

No! Not at all! She had signed on for that bit of mayhem. But this, _this_ was not what she had in mind when she got back to the 1940's.

Don't get her wrong, she had understood she would need to take the class. If she wanted to pose as a pureblood accurately she would have to. But she had never thought, in all her years, that the Damn Dark Lord would be taking the class too.

From what she understood, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was _known_ to be an orphan. It was also well known just _where_ he grew up.

It was frowned upon by his classmates, especially the Slytherin purebloods. They didn't exactly like the fact that the magical orphan who was raised by muggles was in their house. But apparently, from what Hermione knew, he had successfully made most of his followers believe he was like them—a pureblood and not the half blood she knew him to be.

Be that as it may, Hermione still didn't understand why he took the class. Whatever the reason was, she couldn't help but be paranoid. Somebody had set this horrid situation up.

She couldn't believe that her beloved Hogwarts was doing this to her. She had loved every class she had ever taken. She had loved every miniscule bit of knowledge she had ever learned. But now, she was dreading ever stepping foot into the past.

To think, she was being tormented by a class.

Hermione grimaced as the teacher walked in. Oh good gracious mother Mary! Save her.

The chalk the professor spelled to write on the board, began its fatal clank and screech. She leaned her head forward trying with all her might to will away the bile rising in her throat. Next to her, her partner—and bane of her existence—shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Hermione grimaced when the chalk halted and laid to rest. She took a deeply controlled breathe before she gazed back up to the board. On it, written in perfect calligraphy, was: _Procreation: The act and repercussions._

Hermione felt she was in hell. She couldn't believe she was taking Sex Ed with Tom Bloody Riddle.

* * *

**[AN] This was suppose to be a one-shot, turned into more. Go figure!**


	2. Syllabus

**Title:** Unbelievable Circumstances

**Word Count:** 1,409

**Chapter 1:** Syllabus

* * *

"Now then class," the professor began. Her eyes twinkled at the sight of her students. "We'll be studying Procreation. Our deductions will correspond with your Care of Magical Creatures class, and should only last a month at the most."

A number of students looked ill, Hermione noticed. Their heads were ducked down just as hers was, all the while their eyes were averted and faces contorted into a tight grimace. However, there were several others, her partner included, who seemed composed while the other few were blushing like mad.

"This time of the year is the mating season for most creatures." The professor went on to say, caring little for the distress of her students. "I will do what I can to help you understand the animalistic side while still having it correspond to people."

Hermione choked on her tongue. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was her professor serious?

Professor McCallen smiled cheekily. "I know what you're all thinking. But do know this must be done." She gazed at some of the boys. Her eye brows were quirked with suspicion. "We'll start with the process, the mechanisms, and the reasons. It's important to understand how the body reacts, prepares, even administers and creates what is needed."

Hermione was wide eyed with surprise. She was far too embarrassed to do or say anything. And it seemed her partner was no different than she.

McCallen trumped on with her speech, determined to get it out before someone ran for it. "This will take place the first few days of class then afterward we will discover the effects on the body as well as learning the difference between the woman's anatomy and that of the man's."

A student, Hermione recognized the boy as Roger, Roger Steinberg had risen from his seat to leave. The Professor caught the movement and cast a simple sticking charm to the boy's feet.

The boy struggled and Madam McCallen glared. Finally after a few moments he sat back down in his seat, defeated. "Now then," said the Professor. "I will not go into too many details on _that _subject. You will simply be educated about the reproductive organs, _not_ the entire body. So do not fret."

She pointed her disapproving stare at Roger. The boy looked away quickly with a blush plastered all over his face.

"You need to understand the anatomy, or else you will be lost when your Care of Magical Creatures class comes around." The woman shuffled about the room. She came to stand before her desk, wand in hand. Hermione had a feeling she was going to start on a subject none of them wanted to hear.

Sighing, the woman tapped her wand against her arm. She appeared to be thinking about her next statement. It was obvious—whatever it was—it was not going to be pleasant. "I don't want to teach you something you will be uncomfortable with," she amended, "But the board of governors was adamant that you learn about sex. They want you to understand every aspect."

McCallen rubbed her temples in agitation. Apparently, she didn't want to teach this part of the class. She didn't seem to mind the other aspects but this part perturbed her. "Instead of forcing you to learn it from me, I will assign you a project for this part of the class. You will learn it on your own, and at the end, do an essay explaining what you found."

Hermione blinked. What was she referring to? What was the project about? Luckily, she wasn't the one to ask the question. Though, she was quite unhappy that it was her partner, Tom Freaking Riddle, who did. "Professor, please excuse my failure to understand, but what is the project about exactly?"

Hermione glanced away, as his hand came down and rested on the table. She hated how gracious he was towards all the teachers and students. It made her sick. He was a bloody stinking liar.

McCallen was taken aback by his question. "Oh, well," she stumbled, blinking in surprise. "I suppose I forgot to mention it. But you will have to do an essay on the types of sex that there are."

Students frowned. "What do you mean professor?" One brave girl, a Ravenclaw if Hermione remembered right, asked.

"The practice, my dear girl," The professor laughed nervously. "There are many different types of…practices, but I won't go into that yet. You will do _that_ portion of this class on your own."

Some of the students sighed with relief while others looked on suspiciously, and even more just seemed confused by the admonishment.

Hermione snorted at the implication. She knew exactly what the teacher was referring to. She wasn't some uneducated little girl. She was from the modern age after all, where sex was quite common. Not only that, but her parents were dentist—doctors. They knew the mechanics, and had even seen some rather foul repercussions as well.

Her partner must have heard her, for he turned in his seat. "What, dare I ask," he whispered scathingly, "Do you find so humorous. Should I assume you're eager to learn this nonsense?"

Hermione felt her right eye give a twitch. "Don't assume anything, Riddle, it will only make an ass out of you and me." She replied scathingly.

He didn't seem perturbed. A month or two ago, he would have been—Hermione knew—but alas the two of them had grown accustomed to one another's spiteful banter.

Tom's brow raised in disapproval at her manner of speech. "For being a pureblooded witch," he declared softly, "I'm surprised at your disgusting use of language."

Hermione scowled. "For being a half-blood," she replied just as softly as he, "your quite haughty today, Tom."

Tom's eye narrowed. Hermione had long ago shared her knowledge with him. She had told him, she knew his heritage—knew he was not pure. She had been surprised by his reaction back then. He merely laughed at her. Apparently, she wasn't the only Slytherin who knew.

Thankfully, before Tom could retort to her comment, the professor jumped right back on her ban-wagon. "So, beyond those items, we will also take part in the development of children. After the mating fiasco is over with the animals, you will all be privy to the gestation period. You will watch as the infant develops as well you will come to see its birth…"

Some of the girls in the room sighed with awe. They were the only ones, of course. It was obvious to Hermione these girls wanted to be mothers when they left Hogwarts. They would become the simple house-wife.

Hermione was utterly disgusted. Didn't they want to do something with their lives? Surely raising children alone wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. No less, it must be dreadfully boring.

"And from there," McCallen went on, "I will teach you the methods behind abstinence and safe practice. You won't leave my class by the end of this term without knowing ways of protecting yourselves." Here, Mcallen smiled. She gazed at all the girls knowingly. Most would wait till they were married but there would be a few who might find them-selves in a bind.

Clearing her throat, the professor cast a charm to tell the time. "Oh dear, look at that, class is almost over. Well, before you pack up I would like for you to read Section 5 page 206 for your homework. I won't require you to write an essay. But for class tomorrow, bring your Care of Magical Creatures text. We will begin out new unit."

The shuffling of old tomes on desks and the rattling of parchment soon followed her announcement. But before any of the students could leave the class, the professor stopped them saying: "And by the way, tomorrow I will be assigning you a partner." Everyone groaned. "Good bye and good day!" She grinned at her students before leaving through a door that led to her office.

Hermione felt like she was going to die. She had a hunch _who_ would become her partner. She had landed with him in every class they had. It was just her damn luck.

"I do sincerely hope," The dreaded person in question said, "I'm not saddle with you."

"Feelings mutual," she muttered.

Walking out the door, her day and mood utterly ruined, Hermione didn't notice the smirk on Tom's face. _He_ would at least have fun with this.


	3. Partners

**Title:** Unbelievable Circumstances

**Word Count:** 1,037

**Chapter 2:** Partners

* * *

Hermione had hoped. Oh, how she had hoped! But that dreadful professor had decided to post the outcome of her shortcoming a day early.

Outside of Madame McCallen's door an innocent piece of paper had been written on. It alone held Hermione's fate. The parchment seemed to sway seductively before Hermione's eyes, constantly teasing her with its prospects. She dreaded going anywhere near it.

Yet, she couldn't help herself. Her feet began to move forward as her heart began to pound faster. Sweat built up on her temples, sliding down her cheeks as though they were tears. Hermione dearly want to cry. It wouldn't do though; weaknesses such as those could be exploited. And Slytherin, as a whole, was relentless in its pursuit of removing flaws.

Thankfully she held her emotions back. Since she had arrived in the past; she had begun to learn those fine arts. She could successfully hold a straight face even in the direst of situations. Not to mention, she could lie as well as any politician.

"Yes!" A girl exclaimed, "Mary we are partners! Isn't it just fabulous! It's what we had wanted."

Hermione glanced at the blonde Ravenclaw in envy. Her fate would no doubt be the exact opposite.

Trumping up to the list, she waited behind the crowd of students. There were several people milling around the area, wanting to know who they had been paired with. _At least for them, Riddle would be their dream partner_; Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought. _Oh, how I detest that boy_!

Unfortunately for Hermione the riddle of a boy was the only person she was ever paired with. He was her living, breathing nightmare, and yet, he somehow was always there—as if he _planned_ it to be that way.

Hermione didn't doubt that might very well be the truth. However, she had no way of knowing nor did she _want_ to contemplate on it.

Taking a steadying breath, she trumped up some courage and saddled up to the list. Her eyes were closed as she breathed in and out to steady herself.

Finally, with a determination she didn't think she could ever muster, she looked up. And there…glaring at her with utter contempt were the two names.

Oh, how she wanted to die!

Right there in elegant and yet horrid scrawl was:

_Hermione LeBeau and Tom Riddle _

"Oh Merlin!" she whispered.

A hand fell onto her shoulder, weighing her down. She knew exactly who it was. His hands were always cold.

"Trust me when I tell you…" he said, his mouth next to her ear. His cool breathe caressed the crest, sending shivers of revulsion down her spine. "…this will be no pleasure for me as I suspect it will be for you."

"Arrogant, aren't we?" She murmured, pulling herself away from the list. She was disappointed. Could she have at least one project that didn't involve the bastard of a boy?

Tom followed her out of the crowd. "Pity you don't seem to swooning at the mere thought of working with me." He said. His signature smirk plastered on his handsome face. "Most girls would be flattered at the prospect."

Hermione would have rolled her eyes if it wasn't for the persistent presences next to her. He would have loved to exploit such a gesture, if given the chance.

"Most girls would be flattered at the prospect of a new gown and gloves; however Mr. Riddle, I am not like most girls." She was acting haughty, she knew that very well, but she just couldn't stand the boy her barmy headmaster had asked her to befriend.

"Indeed you are not like those fluttering flops." He came to stand next to her side, or rather a few steps in front of her. He was always aiming to be dominant in some way.

How she hated it…

"Flops they may be, but they are still young, they can afford to have their fun." She stated confidently. The war had given her some perspective on youth. Youth should be lived as long as possible, perhaps should even be kept into adulthood. People should always strive to keep a part of it even if it was only curiosity and creativity that remained. "I, on the other hand, rather like studying even if my fellow females would rather powder and crimp."

"You could do with some of the pampering," she didn't even acknowledge his taunt. She had learned awhile ago to ignore any attempts on her feelings.

Instead she flipped her hair with her hand pretentiously. "Why Tom, how sweet of you to say such things, but pray tell, what has brought about your good nature this fine day, hmm?" She teased dully. She always tried to rub him the wrong way, though her attempts were always unsuccessful. No doubt it wouldn't work this time either, but it was worth a try.

She narrowed her eyes when he laughed, completely unaffected by her jibe. "Sweet Hermione, although your hair is a rats-nest and your brows could do with a bit of plucking, my merriment comes from being so close to you." He smiled at her. But it was all a façade. He was good at lying.

"I doubt your good humor today comes from being in my presence." She stopped her descent down the long winding corridor. She gazed at him, her eyes devoid of emotion while his seemed to spark with life. It wasn't real; she needed to remind herself as she slowly became lost in the swirling blue. He was a manipulator—an actor—and a damned good one.

He slowed to a halt. He turned his head away from her, hiding his face. "You misunderstand me, Hermione." He said softly.

She frowned.

He sighed. "You _will_ enjoy this project, Miss LeBeau. I am sure of it." With that, he turned to her, a soft and wholly unnerving smile, lighting up his face. Taking her hand, he kissed her knuckles. "Till later, Hermione, good day." And he walked away, down the corridor and out of sight.

In his wake, he left a thoroughly perplexed Hermione.

Something wasn't right. She could feel that much. Whatever it was, she determined to find out what.


	4. Mystery

**Title:** Unbelievable Circumstances

**Word Count:** 1,893

**Chapter 3:** Mystery

* * *

From his waking, Tom Riddle's mind was filled with thoughts of _her_. He could never get her out of his mind. It wasn't like he wanted her, though her body was tempting…but unfortunately for her, it wasn't that at all.

As he sat beside her in the Muggles Studies class, he knew it wasn't because he desired or even liked her.

For him, she was an anomaly. Unlike the other girls who thought of their hair and nails, she thought of her books and ambitions. She was smart, which was a greatly declining attribute in the female population. And she was driven to succeed on a higher level.

It was something he hadn't seen before among his female counterparts. They were always striving to catch his and his male classmate's eyes. They cared not if they succeeded in their education or received the highest marks. They were all only after one thing, and that was a man.

It hurt him none, and he was hard pressed to admit that he didn't mind their idiocy. The less competition he had, the better.

But Hermione was different. She didn't care for the whimsical whims of her peers. She pursued a greater treasure—knowledge. Moreover, if he supposed correctly, she was also after power.

It was an endeavor that had caught his attention almost immediately.

She'd been after it from the start—searched for the ultimate prize. Many girls gossiped cruelly about her venture, saying petty little things. But she did not heed their words let alone worry over their folly. She trudged on in her quest minding only her business and acknowledging nothing else.

Except…

…For him.

She had gravitated toward his dark power from the beginning, coyly sitting in his vicinity in order to be near him.

He had been shocked at her forwardness at first, but became accustomed to her presence. She was strong herself; not as strong as he, but it was enough to be noted and be wary of. However, she never used her gifts. She was a pureblood through and through—confident, ostentatious, haughty, and a first class know-it-at.

He would admit that he was intrigued by her.

She was such a good little actress too. She made her peers see what she wanted them to see. She made them believe, through smart manipulations, that she despised him for his apparent heritage and blood. But he could see right through her pretentious act. She was drawn to his abilities and the darkness he exuded. She wanted what he could bring her—power, glory, fame. He could tell she wanted it all.

And for reasons he didn't quite understand, he wanted to cultivate her. She would be an asset to his ranks, he told himself, as long has her emotions were not in the way.

Emotions…

The word brought a bitter tang to his tongue. Emotions were useless. And nothing, absolutely nothing good or beneficial came from them. He had learned _that_ lesson while living in the orphanage.

Feelings of any sort brought about weakness. It just happened to be a piece of a person that could be exploited. If a person _had_ no emotions then they were safe from the tyranny of humanity, but if they did…they would gain only pain.

Glancing to his…partner, he noticed the small tick forming on the side of her mouth. She was angry. "Is something bothering you, dear Hermione?" His voiced was coated with a disarming sweetness, but unlike the ordinary twats, she remained unaffected.

Hermione glanced through the corner of her eye. "What does it matter to you, Riddle?"

He frowned. "I ask because you are my partner." He gazed over her slightly turned face. She was listening intently to what he said, even if her eyes were attached to the pacing form of their professor. "I hope you are in good health. There are no…womanly issues to be distracting you?"

She sneered, making Tom excited. She was such a beauty when her face twisted with disgust or rage. Two emotions he could deal with, and appreciated seeing in his followers' eyes and faces.

"Why, Riddle…how low you can fall. Your ill-mannered statement just shows how sordid you really are." Tom quirked a brow, amused by her words. She had quite a spirit, one he would enjoy breaking.

"…A male's…parts are made up of three members." Brought from his wayward thoughts, Riddle found himself listening to the hesitant chatter of Madam McCallen. "These three columns of tissue are composed of two corpora cavernosa, which lay directly next to one another on the dorsal side, and one corpus spongiosum. The area's are highly sensitive and once stimulated begin to create a highly aroused state of being. Thusly leading to the mounting of a desired female…."

He jerked himself away from the discussion, thoroughly disenchanted by the whole thing. He knew what _happened_; he was after all a well developed male and had had his fair share of indecent indiscretions.

Beside him, his partner listened with half an ear. She did not seem interested in the material, but she hardly seemed ruffled by the discussion like everyone else. He wondered why she would be so indifferent to the lesson, when even _he_ cringed at the words spouting out of the professor's mouth.

"…It is important to remember that animals don't derive the same feelings that sex can create. They are unable to comprehend the need for pleasure, for they base all their actions on instinct. While humans pursue a mate for similar reasons—to reproduce and carry on our blood and genes to the next generation—we take the initiative to choose our mates instead of picking the strongest or healthiest out of the flock. We, as a species, will pick a mate that will benefit ourselves personally and not our race as a whole…."

Tom felt his disgust rise. No wonder muggles were the way they were. "Isn't it just sad," he whispered conversationally to Hermione, "That we don't even try to better ourselves? If we did…well, imagine the greatness we could possess. We'd be the strongest, the smartest…nothing could stop us."

"Perhaps," she said, turning in her seat to face him completely. "However, we'd be rather generic, don't you think?"

Tom was taken aback. "Would you rather have a race with flaws or one with none?" Twisting in his seat, Tom leaned forward in his chair. He placed his arm strategically next to hers, wanting a manipulated outcome. "Surely, you wouldn't want our race to be…_weak_ would you?"

Hermione's eyes blazed. She moved her arm away from his cooled touch. She rested the affronted appendage in her lap, clearly keeping it out of the young man's grasps. "I'd prefer to have a society full of originals rather than banal copies."

He took noticed of her maneuvering. She had easily side-stepped the question—answering his inquiry, yet not giving him a true affirmative at the same time. "Yes, but—"

"Mr. Riddle…Mrs. LeBeau would you care to share something?" Madam McCallen glared at the pair form the front of her class.

Hermione returned to her earlier position. Staring down at the table's top. She shook her head at the teacher's angry query. She felt terrible for having disturbed the class, even if the material was objectionable.

Tom, however, easily turned the disruption in his favor. "Forgive me, Professor," he said fluidly, bowing his head as if in an actual apology. "We were simply discussing the benefits of such a mating. Whether or not it would actually help or hinder a species."

The professor appeared intrigued. Hermione wished she could kick the dastardly boy. He was a calculating little git.

"And what, Mr. Riddle, did you decide."

Hermione glanced at her partner, whose snake-like smirk made her frown. "We both agreed that it would make the community quite generic, ma'am."

In response, the professor's eyes sparkled. "Yes, yes, well that is why our species is far superior." Winking at Riddle, the Professor turned back around resuming her lecture enthusiastically. The woman was completely unaware of how she'd just been duped.

Facing Hermione, Tom smiled handsomely. It dropped fairly quickly when he saw her expression. "Don't be upset with me, LeBeau."

"Upset with you?" Hermione was fuming. "Those were my words you stole. _You_ were disagreeing with me."

"Now, now—"

"Don't you dare, '_now, now'_ me, you heartless bastard!" Hermione quietly spat.

Tom was not fazed. "Your language is deplorable LeBeau." Her scowl only deepened at his words. Nonetheless, he trudged on. "I never agreed or disagreed with you. I was merely trying to get your view point, which seemed to have been a good one, in the case of Professor McCallen."

Hermione startled back. Had he just called her idea…a good one?

However, before she could retort, she was interrupted by the teacher ending the lesson.

"…Before you go, I'd like for you to get together with your partner and discuss the lecture. Prior to the beginning of class tomorrow, I'd like you both to have written a five inch essay about the necessary body parts for reproduction. I should like to see it on my desk at the start of class."

There was a great shuffling as students stood and began packing away their belongings. Hermione followed suit, unwilling to acknowledge the young man beside her. She had dealt with him enough as it was.

"…Have a good day class…" said their Professor. She left through her study door, permitting her students to do as they wished.

Many stayed behind—the dutiful and studious Ravenclaw's mostly, but a few Slytherin's too. These few wanted to get the required discussion finished. Nonetheless, there were several others who just left, unwilling or not wanting to review the material. Hermione was much the same as these individuals, although her reasoning's were different.

It was too bad that her _reasoning's_ didn't want to leave her alone. "Ms. LeBeau," Hermione cringed. Could he not just leave her be?

"What do you want, Riddle? I'd like to visit the library before lunch begins."

He came up to her slowly, pursuing his errant prey. He knew she was avoiding him—for a week she had been distancing herself. He found it humorous at times, but it was slowly becoming a nuisance. "May I accompany you? We still need to…discuss the lesson."

She sighed; his eyes flickered toward hers, which were downcast and defeated. "I don't see why not…" Trailing off, she turned around already anticipating him to follow her. He always did, after all.

As predicted, he stepped forward so to be in front of her. She hung back, willing this time, to overlook his haughty and dominating demeanor. She was too tired to deal with it at the moment anyway.

They made it to the library quickly enough. Tom chose a table near the back. The section was dark and secluded, drawing a shiver from his partner.

Hermione glanced about the area. She drew her arms across her chest. The place was cold and shadowed over by high rising shelves.

"I suppose we should…"

Hermione's eyes widened, her breathe left her in one foul swoop. She was pressed up against something hard, something that hurt her. She whimpered. But Hermione knew what was happening. She was trapped—by the one person she feared most—she could not get away.


	5. Struggle

**Title:** Unbelievable Circumstances

**Author:** Passing Glance

**Word Count:** 1,800

**[-|- Dedicated to KTHxBai -|-]**

* * *

Memories of the day before flooded Hermione's mind. It had been one of the scariest times of her life—trapped in the arms of the devil. But oh how she had reveled in it afterward. How she had conquered the beast that dwelt within him. It was like mastering a skill far beyond her reach—terribly exciting though exceedingly dangerous. And yet, she had done it. She had faced the darkness with all she had and somehow come out alive.

It was so vivid even now, as she sat in her bed hidden behind her covers. She knew that somewhere out in the common room, the devilish boy was likely studying. He wore his façade well.

To everyone who could not _see_, he was but a student—a perfect, wonderfully charming, and handsome student. He was nothing more or anything less. Maybe one day he would become more, and oh my how some of the female students crowed over that very prospect.

Very few knew the truth. And only Hermione knew everything. But even she was not privy to the young man completely. Beyond his baser feelings and partially hidden desires, she could not possibly see what resided in the deepest regions of his soul. She could only speculate upon those depths and wonder what hid there.

Nevertheless, she knew (unlike most) that Tom Riddle was but a child in disguise—a broken, misunderstood, and malformed child.

Tom had been given such a terrible hand in life. Fate truly must have hated him or…perhaps, loved him the most. Some of the most degenerate, heartbreaking souls were unknowingly given the better hand. They had it all, and most didn't even know it. They misused it, abused it, slandered it, and condemned it. They had all the power to be great and good, yet either from poor circumstance or bad experience, didn't know quite know how to use it. And so it became corrupted and they fell from grace because of it.

The sad part was that they didn't even know it, let alone see it.

Pushing back her curly hair, Hermione revealed a stark bruise. She rubbed tenderly at her cheek, wincing slightly when her fingers grazed over a sensitive area.

She certainly remembered that night. After all, the remnants were printed upon her face.

When he'd pinned her, everything had gone downhill from there…

.

.

.

Away from wayward eyes, Tom was able to do as he wished. It was time, he felt, to show Hermione just what he was—just what she was looking for in him. If she wanted power, then he would show her power. He would give her exactly what she craved.

"Hush…" he hissed. Pressing his front to hers, he leaned her back onto the table while trapping her arms against his chest. His pall cheek rested against hers and one of his hands slithered into her hair, tangling his long fingers in her golden strands.

Hermione stilled beneath him. Her arms were secured—unable to move. There was nothing she could do if he decided to attack her.

Fear rose within the pit of her stomach at the thought. She felt sick. How could she have been so blind? The future Dark Lord was not somebody to be trifled with, even if he was young and inexperienced. He was still very dangerous.

She dreaded what he was about to do. She had known that her behavior toward him was unacceptable. She had known that at some point he would confront her about it. However, she hadn't expected it to happen in this manner. "Wh—What are you doing?" She stuttered, pressing feebly against his chest with no success.

Tom pressed her farther into the table, and Hermione winced from the sharp pain in her back.

"Giving you what you want." He said.

Her eyes widened. "No," She whispered with wide eyes. She began to struggle—fiercely shaking her body back and forth across the table. But he had a firm grip on her that would not let go.

In the next moment, she was reeling. The harsh backhand had come without a hint of warning. Hermione hadn't even noticed his loosening grip on her shoulders, let alone see the raised hand.

Her cheek was hot and her nerves stung fiercely. She could feel the throb of her broken blood vessels that were screaming to be healed, but would receive no such relief. It was devastating. She felt so vulnerable.

The shock alone had her frozen in place. Silently, she sought the steely blue eyes of her perpetrator. There was no emotion in those eyes, no spark of guilt or moment of anger. There was nothing. His eyes were like a void—a never ending void of churning blue. It was like the ocean. She knew that beyond the surface fiends waited with bated breath to eat her whole, but his façade showed none of the turmoil underneath.

She was truly scared in that moment as she looked into eyes that didn't even care.

"What are you going to do to me?" She beseeched. Her voice trembled with the force of her emotions, and she nearly succumbed to tears.

The display only served to displease Tom. "Whatever I want," He said matter-of-factly.

"You can't!" She exclaimed angrily. "You can't control me for your own sick amusement."

The tightening grip on her hair warned her of his growing anger. She half expected him to hit her again. "You think you know me?" He blurted. Pure malice, dark and malevolent, built up like a raging storm in his eyes. She could barely keep herself from screaming. "I will do what I please."

"You can't just take!" She rallied. Some of the old Hermione—the Gryffindor Hermione—was returning. She could feel the stupid bravery of her old house burning in her chest, ready to stand courageously in the face of evil and not back down. She forced herself to remain calm. "I am not a toy to be handled flippantly."

Her words didn't affect him in the least. "I have given you enough leeway. You will cow before my power, LeBeau or I will break you."

"I will never break." She retorted venomously.

"You will." He growled. "The things I can do to you…" He left the statement hanging as his wand trailed up her stocking-covered legs and pressed into her thigh brutally.

Her eyes widened in outrage. She lurched forward, startling her strong captor. The force behind her sudden attack nearly freed her from his hold.

But she did not get away.

Tom was quick in rectifying his loss of control. He slammed her hard against the tabletop. The resounding crack of bone traveled across the library, likely alerting those nearby to the silent struggle.

Hermione gasped in pain. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, and forced down her tears. She would not let him see her cry.

"You bastard!" She hissed.

He sneered. "Know this, LeBeau, I will have you, for you do not fool me. I know what you want—what you crave." Tom grabbed her chin forcefully, pulling her face up to look at him. His eyes searched her hateful countenance with satisfaction. "You cannot fight me."

"You're wrong." She replied. "I will not succumb."

"But you will; they all do." With his final statement, he stood. Tom retrieved his book bag from under the table. He smirked at Hermione, who gingerly rose from atop the table. She did not put any weight on her broken wrist, much to his amusement. But he said not more to her, and quickly turned to leave.

He didn't get far.

"I am not like your pawns, Tom. I know all that you are and all that you will be. You are the same as everybody else. And like everyone else you will fail." Hermione's words were eerily calm. And in silent preparation for the backlash.

She watched as Tom turned to her, then. He was so angry; she could literally feel the boiling emotions rolling off of his body from where she sat. The old Tom (Hermione knew) hated to be called average and hated the idea of failing. It was no wonder that the words alone had Tom brandishing his wand in her direction.

She could tell he intended to hurt her terribly, his reputation be damned. He would not let her challenge go unanswered.

But no spell came.

He was stopped by the librarian. Tom didn't dare stay, despite his hesitation to leave. In the end, he placed his wand in his robes and walked away.

"You'll see, Hermione." He asserted bitterly. "I'll have you at my feet."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so, Tom." She replied.

.

.

.

Hermione remembered trembling from pain and from victory. Despite her injuries, she had won a small battle of sorts. She had not fallen to his will, she had triumphed. She'd even challenged him.

When the librarian had found her, she'd been on her knees, tears streaming down her face. Through it all, she'd lied effortlessly. She'd woven an incredible story about falling from a shelf. Her idiocy had earned her quite a lecture.

Soon after, her wrist had been healed and she had been free to return to her life. Yet, for the rest of the day she'd been satisfied.

Hermione knew what she had to do. She had to bring Tom back to reality. He was not superior. In fact, he was broken. If she could put him back together, then she could mold him into a better person.

Dumbledore had once said that he had seen some good in Tom. Hermione sincerely hoped he was right, for their plan would fail if he was wrong…

* * *

**[AN]** So this **Chapter is dedicated to KTHxBai as an Early Birthday Present**. (I'm a sucker for these things. But don't think it will happen again…o-O)

_Anyway, will it be updated again? Your answer: no, not likely_. Maybe, as I've been in a Harry Potter mood for some time, but in truth I ask that you don't get your hopes up.


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